


Seven Devils

by Mystery_Lady



Category: Wild Kratts
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Castration, Dark Martin, Dismemberment, Emasculation, Hints of Krattcest in the First Chapter, Krattcest - Freeform, M/M, More Krattcest on the Second Chapter, Past Rape/Non-con, Pissed and Vindictive Martin, Protective!Martin, Revenge, dark!Martin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 22:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20379457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystery_Lady/pseuds/Mystery_Lady
Summary: And throughout all of their unwanted meetings, he would admit with glee that he would smirk at the older brother, taunting him since he knew that Martin was powerless to do anything. And with what little evidence and the baby Kratt unwilling to even face him, both brothers were helpless to do anything.----Gourmand believes he can get away with countless crimes, such as killing and cooking endangered animals and what he has done to Chris.Martin is going to prove him otherwise.OrGourmand has created a monster.





	Seven Devils

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp, this is my first Wild Kratts fanfic and I'm honestly nervous. 🙃
> 
> This is a pretty dark fic and I hope those who have taken the time to read had read the tags. I have tried to keep everyone in-character but at the same, I have to remind myself "This is Dark!Martin for Fuck's sake! He's already out-of-character!" But all jokes aside, I did try to maintain in keeping them in-character and in spite of everything, I hope you guys enjoy it.
> 
> If something seems incorrect with the equipment that Martin is using or the way the procedure is being handled, then please forgive me but google can only do so much (and I mostly had to take an educated guess)
> 
> Without further ado, here's my fic. ^_^

Gourmand hums cheerily, swaying and dancing to a song that no one could hear but himself, as he grabs a cutting board and a chef knife, placing them on the counter as he stares with callous eyes at the small, dark-furred feral cat that was inside the equally small, metal cage.

“My, my, aren’t you a fine specimen? I’ll admit, you are a real beauty and I can see why so many folks would go gaga over you.” He strokes the outline of the metal cage, snickering quietly when the wild cub hisses at him and tries to back away.

“And while you’re fun to look at, I’m more curious to see how you _taste_ like…”

Grabbing a honing rod, Gourmand begins to sharpen his dull knife, loving the sound the knife makes when it comes in contact with the honing rod.

“Maybe I’ll give your fur coat to Donita? That way, I don’t have to listen to her bitching and moaning about how I ruined a _beautiful_ fur coat.” He mocks with a roll of his eyes.

As he puts down the knife, Gourmand was surprised at the fact that the “Wild Croutons” hasn’t burst inside his humble abode and order that he release the scrawny creature, followed up with a hippy lingo after the said demand. 

Or at least, it will be the green-clad Kratt brother that would make snippy retorts while the one in blue would be up to something either ridiculous or impossibly meticulous, that it catches him by surprise either way.

Speaking of the Green Grape…

Gourmand let a salacious smirk spread across his face, letting his mind wander as he carefully washes the knife and sets the knife on top of the board.

Chris Kratt… Green Grape… The feisty beauty that haunts his dreams and waking moments; the same man that he hasn’t seen in the past ten months!

Ever since that unforgettable night where he had him in his clutches, he hasn’t seen hair or hide from the younger man.

Oh, he has seen the dopey older brother and the rest of the pests but the one he actually wants to see, he never shows up! And if he does get a glimpse of him, the blue-eyed _imbécile _purposely gets in the way, glaring at him with righteous anger that only an older brother can pull off.

Gourmand knew; he knew that the older Kratt brother was aware of what happened between Chris and himself. The others were left in the dark but Martin… Martin was too incensed and sharp-tongued not to be informed with what had happened between them. 

And throughout all of their unwanted meetings, he would admit with glee that he would smirk at the older brother, taunting him since he knew that Martin was powerless to do anything. And with what little evidence and the baby Kratt unwilling to even face him, both brothers were helpless to do anything.

And Chris…Ever since that memorable night, he had been left insatiable and craving for more of the lithe brunet.

It has been so long; he almost couldn’t remember how he smelled like—keyword “almost”. But no, it was impossible to forget; he can still recall Chris’s scent—could nearly taste it—as though it was yesterday.

He smells like the broad and sturdy trees that he loves to climb and of what he could describe as innocence; gentle to your senses and _clean_. And that chaste <strike>and arousing</strike> scent was then fused with sweat, tears, and blood…

Truthfully, Gourmand believed that the combine scents made Chris smell better.

Waving off those thoughts before he got too distracted, he turns back to his new little experiment, his smile wide and barbarous, as he goes to unlock the cage.

Only to stop when he hears the sound a canned item falls off his shelf.

Frowning, he grabs a rolling pin and turns around warily, eying the fallen object on his messy floor. As he surveys his kitchen, he only picks it up when he sees nothing out of the ordinary. Putting it back on the shelf, he goes back to the kitchen counter when another item topples over and lands loudly on one of the pots he placed aside on the floor.

Irritated yet troubled, he picks up the fallen item and places it back where it belongs.

A low and menacing growl made him freeze, his grip on the rolling pin tight as he looks around his kitchen swiftly, trying to pinpoint where the threatening noise was coming from. When he turns around, facing the darkened area of his kitchen where the food cabinet was, he was met with icy blue eyes. 

“What in the world—” he starts before letting out a petrified scream when the blue-eyed creature leaped towards him, the tackle knocking him back as his head collided with the edge of the counter. As he lands with a heavy thud, Gourmand tries to blink away the black spots that danced in his eyes, tensing up when the _thing_ that knocked him over crept closer.

As it got closer, he groggily noticed that it looked strangely familiar…

_‘What are you—’_

His world promptly turns black.

A sharp pain on the right side of his face wakes him up, blinking in a dazed manner and his head feeling too heavy to even lift. Wanting to rub the side of his face that ached—and check the back of his head—he begins to lift his hand.

Only to realize that he couldn’t.

Feeling wide awake now, Gourmand lifts his head a bit, looking around in a panic as he sees that his wrists were tied down with his own creation. But underneath his dough weapon, he could feel heavy, metal shackles that kept his hands pinned to his table. 

When he tried to move his legs as well, he could feel that his ankles were pinned down as well.

An airy chuckle rings out inside the room he was trapped in, “Gee, here I thought that you would never wake up!”

Focusing on the well-known voice—a voice that is already starting to grate on his nerves—he makes eye contact with a pair of familiar blue eyes.

“Blueberry? What are you doing here? What is the meaning of this?!”

Martin ignores his rapid questions, whistling cheerfully as he moves his steel mobile table he loves to use in the kitchen at times, a few feet away from him.

“How are you doing Gourmy? I hope you’re nice and comfy on the table I placed you in; I almost broke my back too when I set you there. You really need to lose some weight.” There was a hint of cold mockery in Martin’s tone even as he continues to grin at him in an easy-going manner.

He glares at the cheerful man, “What is the meaning of this?” he repeats the question again.

“You might feel a bit of draft since I had to change your clothes—I have to say, red is not your color—and I also took the time to sterilize the table in which you’re lying on. I place some nice, white blankets on it that are pretty cheap and easy to throw away when everything is done.”

“What the hell are you blabbing about?” he demands, his patience running thin.

Martin blinks in slight surprise before smiling again. But the smile that extended across his lips was anything but pleasant.

“Why, I’m getting you ready for your surgery of course!”

Gourmand’s heart plummeted downward and straight into his stomach.

“Wh-what—”

“You had hit yourself pretty hard in the head there an hour ago, you should really watch your step there Gourmand.” Martin scolds with a shake of his head, “And when the hour passed and you still haven’t woken up or reacted when I started to prod and poke you, I had to slap you awake. Sorry about that by the way.” He did not, in fact, looked sorry at all.

“What surgery are you talking about? Unhand me!” he growls, fighting against the shackles and dough that held him down. To no one’s surprise, the restrains hardly budge.

Martin ignores the commotion behind him, rummaging through a bag that he must have brought with him before removing those black and blue gloves he loves to wear.

“In any case, since when were you a surgeon? Last time I checked, you were just a tree-hugging, measly zoologist!”

Martin hums before nodding in agreement, “I don’t have a medical degree or a license to be a surgeon. But for what I need to do, well, I don’t honestly care if I do it right. As long as you don’t die on me, then everything else is fine.”

“What?!”

Martin turns, wearing surgical gloves and revealing a disposable alcohol cotton swab and a syringe in his hand. He takes a step towards him.

Gourmand tries to back away, “Stay away! Keep that thing away from me.”

“Now, now Gourmand, don’t make such a fuss. All you’re getting is an injection.”

“I don’t want that thing near me! Keep it away!”

Martin pays him no mind, setting a strong hand on his thrashing knee as he raises the long shirt he apparently put on him and places the syringe down for a second. Before Gourmand could relax, Martin rips open the alcohol swab and cleans the area in which the injection was going to go; which was on the upper left side of his pelvis…

Gourmand makes an exclamation of protest and struggles harder.

“Stop squirming; you’re only going to feel a little pinch.” Martin chastises, having the audacity to roll his eyes as he grabs the needle and none too gently inject the fluids into the flabby skin of his pelvis.

Gourmand felt nothing for a minute or so, his body too tense to relax, when he started to feel an indescribable pain all at once. A type of pain he has never felt before and he could already feel how it began to spread out from the area where the skin was punctured with the needle.

His vision swam and he had to close his eyes, feeling as though his body was being spun in circles even though he knew he hasn’t been moved from the table he was strapped into.

For a moment, Gourmand feared he was going to vomit and make a mess all over himself.

He flinches when he feels two gloved fingers press against his pulse point.

“Hmm, your pulse is a bit quick and you’re already starting to feel a bit hot. But other than that, you seem to be fine.” Martin quips casually, stepping back a bit, “I guess from your reaction, you enjoyed my little present.”

Gourmand narrowed his eyes at Martin, his vision still swimming, “Present? You call that damn thing you injected me with a present?!”

“Of course! After all, I made this specifically for you~” Martin’s voice drops to a saccharine croon.

He gazes at the older Kratt brother with disturbed eyes, unsure if the ringing he hears inside his head is due to a splitting headache that was beginning to form in his head or warning bells at an upcoming and unpleasant event.

“You should feel honored. It’s my own creation with a little help from a special friend.” Martin continues in a bubbly tone, putting on the cap of the syringe he used and placing it inside a black plastic bag that the blonde had taken out of his traveling bag.

“Sss-special friend?” he stutters for a moment, blinking rapidly as he moves his jaw a bit. All he could concentrate was trying not to heave, the smarting headache he feels, and the painful heat in his pelvic region.

Martin nods with a hum, bringing the table close as he turns on a lamp he hasn’t seen before, bringing it closer to his pelvic area.

“Uh-huh. Have you ever heard of the stonefish?”

The stonefish? He honestly has no clue what a stonefish was.

“Stonefish are not the prettiest fish but it has amazing and **dangerous** creature powers. Not only are they masters of camouflage but they are also one of the most venomous fish in the world. Their venom is located in their dorsal fin spines and despite popular beliefs; they do not use their venom to catch their prey.”

Usually Gourmand would let his mind wander whenever he heard either of the Kratt brothers gush over whichever creature they deem interesting enough to share with him—or either of his insufferable partnered villain of the day—or hear both angrily, usually Chris, explain why the animals should be “Living Free and in the Wild” <strike>he really shouldn’t be thinking of his gutsy, captivating beauty</strike>.

But this time, he couldn’t find the will to ignore Martin’s words.

“Venom…?”

“Thanks to the Stonefish’s help, I was able to create a mockup of the Stonefish’s venom! You will feel all of the symptoms of the poison working through your bloodstream but my replica of the poison won’t kill you. Well, at least not instantly.” Martin adds flippantly, as he puts a sensor device on his forefinger, the sensor connected to the thick, gray cable in which Martin puts the handheld machine on the side, close enough for the blonde to grab. 

“The mockup is designed to prolong the symptoms you feel from a Stonefish’s sting. And while I have never stepped on a Stonefish, I have heard a lot of witnesses say that when they come in contact with the Stonefish’s spines, they feel pain is so _unbearable_, they beg to have the affected area amputated or even death.”

“And how do you know that it won’t kill me quickly? Did you just pulled it out of your ass and hoped it wouldn’t kill me swiftly!” he snaps, masking his rising fear with anger.

But then Martin stares at him with unimpressed eyes, looking at him as though he’s an incredibly dull-witted man, “I do just what any normal person would do; I tested it by using test subjects.”

He was taken aback by the response.

“And before you ask, it wasn’t on animals.”

He was practically afraid to ask but he ends up inquiring, however, “Test subjects…_Human_ test subjects?!”

“Stop sounding so scandalized; you’re a man that enjoys cooking endangered animals and have even tried to even cook Chris and me! You’re in no position to point fingers.” Martin reprimands with a shake of his head, “Besides, Chris isn’t going to miss his three high school bullies and neither will the world do. Especially since one of them was trying to be a wannabe serial killer anyway.” He adds offhandedly.

As he hears those words, Gourmand begins to shake. Not only because he feels an overwhelming chill over his body but also at Martin’s words; those blue eyes shimmering with malicious amusement as he stares down at him.

“You know, at first, I was thinking of going with a Brazilian Wandering Spider for my mockup venom but I decided against it. Especially since it wouldn’t go well with what I’m planning to do to you…”

Gourmand watches him silently as Martin backs away from him, only to come back and place a blue cloth on the table. He then stares with widening eyes as he begins placing stainless steel surgical equipment on the table. He recognized a few of them such as the scalpel, pliers, forceps, and various scissors.

“Man, if only Chris knew what I was doing. He would probably be so surprised and—” Martin stops himself, a frozen look on his face as he looks at nothing in particular. His eyes were dark with either anger or pain but Gourmand wasn’t sure because the emotion was gone as quickly as it came.

“You’re doing this because of Chris aren’t you?” the words slipped out without his permission.

Martin pauses before continuing on, putting down the spool with the surgical thread and gauzes on the tray.

Gourmand didn’t bother to stop his laughter, “You-you're doing this for Chris? Or are you doing this for yourself?” he stops for a moment, feeling lightheaded before carrying on, “Are you doing this because you felt useless in protecting your brother? Or are you angry because I gave your brother what he deserves!”

Martin’s eyes snapped towards him, completely stopping with what he was doing.

“Oh yes… Your innocent, spunky, _weak_ little brother… Oh, how tempting he looked underneath me. He struggled against me—bit and clawed at me too—but he’s so frail compared to me. All I had to do was slap him a few times, bang his head against the floor, and dislocate one of his legs and he was as docile as a lamb.”

He didn’t know what he was accomplishing with telling all of this to Martin but seeing that growing anger in those repugnantly cheerful eyes filled him with delight.

“And when I had my way with him?” Gourmand pauses before he lets out a dark but pained cackle, “I never knew a human’s throat can produce such a scream! Maybe his new nickname should be "lamb"? He definitely sounded like one when one of them is being slaughtered.”

Gourmand then peers up at Martin, smirking deviously at him, “And he screamed and he begged; he screamed out for you…”

He lets the words hang in the air, the room filled with tense silence that was nearly suffocating.

As Gourmand stares at Martin, he became increasingly uncomfortable as Martin remained quiet; his eyes frighteningly blank instead of the ranging blue from before as he observes him.

Gourmand abruptly feels extreme ache on his right inner thigh, unable to hold back his cry of pain as he feels blood spill down his leg.

“W-w-what—” he forces himself to sit up a bit to look down, seeing with watery eyes the long, deep gash on his right thigh—oh God was that hard-looking, white tissue his bone?!—and then he stares at his left leg. His left side, from his pelvis to the tip of his toes, was swollen beyond belief.

“Why you little—why did you—”

“I wanted to test just how sharp my new scalpels were. They’re perfectly sharp.” Martin responds; his voice placid as he cleans the soiled scalpel with one of the gauzes. Martin then closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, holding it before letting go slowly.

When Martin opened his eyes again, there was a cold glint of determination as he steps forward, standing in front Gourmand’s spread legs.

“Surgeries like the one I’m going to perform are better to have patients under general anesthesia but frankly, I want you to **_feel_** everything that I’m going to do to **you**.”

Gourmand glares at the young man in front him, panting lightly as he tries to give his aching lungs the air that they needed, feeling as though he was burning from the inside out. He wanted to be free so that he could at least rip his whole leg away from his body!

He tenses when he sees Martin raising the scalpel again, eying it as the medical instrument was lowered down; the blade pressing gently against the skin of his groin…

Pain and exhaustion forgotten for a bit, he begins to struggle uselessly against his restraints again. He only stops to let out a howl of pain as he feels fingers dig deep into the open wound of his right thigh, the same fingers wiggling inside uncaringly for a few seconds before they began pulling on the fold of his skin; the grip punishingly tight.

The warning was clear…

“You know, maybe you’re right.”

Gourmand could hardly hear the older Kratt brother’s voice when the sound of his own thundering heartbeat deafened him.

“Maybe, in a selfish way, I am using you as a punching bag. Maybe I am taking my anger out on you because I’m angry at myself.” Martin’s voice was soft, detached, and almost… fragile. When he looks up, Martin’s eyes pierce into his own, his face as calm and smooth as a porcelain doll but his eyes… His eyes were as lightless and frigid as the midnight ocean; almost devoid of life.

Gourmand’s breath rattles inside his chest, nausea making his stomach turn as the pain on the left side of his pelvis went from a painful pulse to a burning ache.

“But make no mistake… This isn’t about me, no matter how much you try to purposely misinterpret my actions.”

An unbearable pain on his crotch made him gasp with pain, feeling blood pooling down from the wound that was becoming longer and deepening as Martin drags the scalpel along in a painfully slow manner.

“All of this agony you’re going to feel is _minuscule_ to what Chris went **_through_**. Your little, primitive brain can’t even comprehend what you **_forced_** him to experience, the **_pain_** that **you** caused him! You’re going to pay for all of the _tears_ he has shed, for every sleepless night your nightmarish face kept him awake, for all the days he couldn’t find the **strength** to eat, and for making him **_afraid_** of any simple touch, even from his own friends and family!”

By the end of it, Martin was almost screaming, lips pulled back in a contemptuous snarl and his eyes aglow with abhorrence and a hint of madness.

It has been years since someone had made him feel so loathsome and insignificant.

And it has been even longer since he had last felt any sense of _fear_.

“And if I have to resort to chopping off your damned dick to bring you down to your knees, **then so be it**!”

He must be still knocked out. He has to be; there’s no way that Martin Kratt, the airheaded and oddball member of the Wild Kratts’ team is in his home, holding him hostage, speaking to him in such a manner and all the while threatening—no, beginning to dismember him and all the while, looking at him with such immense and unadulterated hatred. He saw no sign of his typically joyful, sweet-natured persona.

He was jolted out of his thought when he felt Martin grab his length in a vicious grip, gloves tacky with blood from when his fingers were prodding his gaping injury. He lets out an undignified whine, the tugging of his cock making the spreading gash on his groin open further.

Gourmand only saw a glint of the scalpel blade before his world unexpectedly became mute; his senses closed off for a few seconds before his world resume, a high pitched scream sounding so irritatingly close to his ears.

When he gathered his wits, he registers with nauseating horror that the shrilled scream was coming from him…

“That’s quite impressive Gourmy! Maybe you should join the choir.” Martin quips with a jaunty laugh, a smile stretched across his lips. He appears not to be bothered by the small droplets of blood that had splattered over his right cheek and his chin.

Gourmand couldn’t stop himself from screaming, tears running down his cheeks as he feels a strong and powerful metal equipment brutally crush and yank on his balls. Before he could even take the next breath, he felt the moment they were torn off his pelvis.

Martin continues on, his voice eerily gleeful, “It would definitely keep you entertained and away from endangered animals.”

Throat aching and his gorge rising, Gourmand wheezes, his body unable to stop shaking as the pain began to make him delirious.

“And most importantly—” and like a flip of a switch, Martin’s eyes narrowed and he sneers down at him, “—It would keep you away from **my** Chris!” he growls lowly and with a quick flick of his wrist, Martin slashed away his cock without warning. 

Gourmand arches his back and releases a bestial-like wail, oblivious to the blood that ran past his wrists due to how deep he dug his nails into his palms. He made sounds he didn’t think he was capable of, his body trembling and drenched with cold sweat.

For a few minutes, he believes he must have blacked out because when he finally came to it, he felt a sharp, stinging sensation; a quick prick a needle going in and out his skin. He belatedly realizes that his throbbing, gaping wounds were being sewed shut. 

And another thing he noticed was that he had something peculiar in his mouth; specifically, a piece of metal equipment that kept his mouth wide open.

“Oh good, you’re awake! For a minute there, I thought I would have to perform CPR.” Martin remarks; a hint of disgust in his tone.

Gourmand let his head fall back limply, drained and in agony and having little strength to keep fighting. He recoils when he feels a hard tug, looking down with morbid interest to see Martin pulling on the thread with needle holder scissors, a look of intense concentration on Martin’s face.

A look of satisfaction crosses Martin’s features, a small smirk on his lips as he nods to himself and cuts the remaining thread, seemingly having already tied the thread to keep the stitches closed.

The sound of a familiar melody chimes unexpectedly through the room, startling both of them. Gourmand eyes Martin as he let out a soft curse, eying the Creaturepod and then at the room they were both in.

With the Creaturepod still ringing, he sees Martin grabs these bloodied objects—he refuses to see or acknowledge what it was—and puts both of them in separate plastic bags that he took out of his traveling bag. Without a word, he places them in a medium-sized portable cooler.

He then removes his blood-stained gloves and deposits them in the same black bag from before. Standing up and walking off, Gourmand watches as he leaves the room and he could hear the sound of a faucet being turned on.

A moment later, Martin comes back, the blood that was on his face washed away. Without a word, he moves the lamp away, now the light on his face as Martin pushes the mobile table aside. The Creaturepod rang again and Martin turns to him, a direct warning in his icy blue eyes.

“Not a single sound.” Martin cautions him, backing away from him as he stands in a certain position. He seems to be pleased with whatever decision he had settled on because a second later, he accepts the call.

“Hey bro,” Martin greets him affectionately, causing Gourmand to balk in surprise and turn his head feebly to look at the blonde curiously. Martin’s blue eyes were warm and welcoming, a complete contrast to his arctic and menacing demeanor from before, “What are you doing up?”

Gourmand noticed that while he was able to see Chris—in a way—the youngest Kratt brother couldn’t see him. It was apparent in the way Chris’s frantic expression evaporated and he slumps in his seat, letting out a soft sigh.

“Hey Martin,” was the soft yet enthusiastic reply, “Where are you? It’s pretty late to be outside of the Tortuga.”

“Oh, I was just doing a late-night errand.”

“At two o’clock in the morning?!”

“I didn’t think it would take this long.” Martin retorts defensively, “Besides, what are _you_ doing up? You usually be knocked out by this time.”

An expression of fear flickered across Chris’s face before vanishing. But it wasn’t quick enough for Gourmand not to notice and with the way that Martin straightened himself, it didn’t go undetected either.

“Are you okay Chris?”

Chris nods, “I’m okay.”

“Chris…..”

Chris squirms, eyes looking everywhere but Martin until he sags in his seat again, sighing loudly.

“I had a nightmare, that’s all.” The brunet forces out, looking away from his older brother.

Martin’s eyes soften, “Chris—”

“… And you weren’t here. I can’t sleep if I don’t feel you next to me…” Chris admits; his face flushing with what Gourmand believes is with shame. It’s a lovely look on the younger man’s face…

“Hey, hey,” Martin’s voice lowers into an admittedly intimate whisper, making him eyed Martin oddly as the older Kratt brother’s eyes glimmer with emotion that both astounded him and made him feel uncomfortable. “Give me an hour and I’ll be right home. Can you do that for me?”

Chris gazes at him wordlessly but then he nods in acceptance, “One hour; no more than that.”

Martin only grins in reply and gives him the thumbs up, disconnecting the line after Chris waves goodbye at him. Once the communication was cut off, the wild and wintry look in his eyes returns again, turning to glance at Gourmand with an unearthly calm expression.

“We’re going to speed this up a bit; I have more important things to do than to listen to you caterwauling.”

Gourmand couldn’t deny it; he was thoroughly terrified to know what else the older Kratt brother was up to.

Martin kept the lamp where it was, in front of his face but he moves it an inch down, the light hitting directly to his mouth. Gourmand wiggles helplessly as he watches him put on a new pair of gloves and grab a new scalpel and thumb forceps.

A whimper of fear slips out of him.

“I have been planning this night for almost a year now,” Martin starts disinterestedly, using the thumb forceps to grab and then pull out his tongue. Gourmand whines loudly, trying to shake off the hold. “Ever since that night I found Chris, I been researching and thinking of different ways that I could get back at you for what you did to my brother.”

Gourmand could do nothing else but listen.

“He’s gotten a little better now; therapy and psychiatry are doing wonders for him. He doesn’t flinch as badly as he used to do when someone appeared from behind him and he sleeps a bit better now too. He still can’t stand being touched for too long from other strangers but he’s okay with the kids, the gang, and me but that also depends if he’s having a good day. On his **bad** days, he doesn’t want anyone except for me to touch him.”

He lets out another whimper when he feels Martin presses the scalpel against his tongue lightly.

“You’re probably wondering as to why I’m telling you this. I’m telling you this is because I want you to know that despite what you did, what you _thought_ you could accomplish, Chris isn’t as broken as you thought he might be. You hurt him in a way that I couldn’t possibly fathom—not that ever stopped me from trying to understand though... But he has learned to pick himself up because he, himself, wanted to get better.

“He has relapsed and sometimes he wants to hide from the world because despite how much he wishes, this is something that doesn’t go away quickly. But he’s making so much progress!” Martin sounds so proud, a loving expression on his face as he continues to smile. But then the smile disappears, “And one day, you’ll just become an unpleasant memory. You think that with this disgusting stunt, he will always remember you. But you’re wrong…”

Gourmand emits stuttering whines as Martin push down the scalpel harder, blood filling into his mouth.

“He’s getting better to move past the God awful memories of _you_. You’re an insignificant, repulsive **wretch** that doesn’t deserve to even _kiss_ the ground my brother walks in! And once I’m done with you, I can cast you off out of my mind and forget all about you just as my brother is learning how to do so as well.”

He utters a pained wail when Martin slices of half of his tongue in a quick but messy swoop. Martin shuts him up by shoving a handful of gauzes into his mouth uncaringly as he walks off with the remainder of his tongue that was being held by the forceps. Just like with the other body parts, Martin sets it inside a plastic bag and shoves the bag inside the cooler; he then walks over towards him.

“Honestly? I would have cut your whole tongue but I didn’t want to deal with splitting your jaw open; especially since I have to start with your chin and go down one side of your throat.”

Gourmand could barely concentrate Martin’s words, squirming as he struggles to breathe.

Martin “tsk” and heads off to who knows where. When he appears again, he stands beside him with a handheld machine in his hand. Without further ado, he pulls out the wet and blood-soaked gauzes and slides inside a thin nozzle into his mouth. After a moment, Gourmand notices that his blood and saliva were being absorbed into the white, plastic bottle.

“It’s a good thing I always come prepared!” Martin gibes casually, pulling the machine away a moment later. He then shoves more gauzes into his mouth as he takes off the bottle from the machine, putting inside another bag, and setting the machine inside his portable bag.

He sees in the corner of his eye that Martin walked over to the table he set aside before. He didn’t get to see what he grabbed before he was next to him, a new syringe in his hand.

He releases a muffled scream at that and wiggles like a trapped worm on dry concrete.

“Oh stop your bitching, I never said I was going to kill you.” Martin snips in a bored tone, cleaning the area of his inner elbow with the alcohol swab and then injecting the fluids. “This is the anti-venom that I created for my mockup; so don’t worry, you won’t die now.”

Panic slowly ebbing away, Gourmand lies on the table in an exhausted slump, trying to ignore how drowsy he felt.

“I wanted to kill you.” Martin says out of the blue, “I wanted to see the light leave your eyes, left your body on that table to **rot** and become food for the creatures around here in the forest of Central America.”

Gourmand forces his eyes open, not willing to close them in front of this…**_monster_** that impersonates one of his most hated enemies…

“But I won’t. Not because I believe you need a second chance. It’s because I know, despite the rage and disgust he feels towards you, Chris wouldn’t want you to die.” Martin gazes him dispassionately, “You should be thanking him; I had stopped caring for my brother’s enemies…”

He eyes him warily as Martin steps closer to him, looming down at him in a way that reminds him of an hungered predator; waiting for him to make the wrong move so that he could sink his teeth into him.

“For now, you shouldn’t be able to talk but if I find out that you found a way to tell _anyone_ about what happened tonight, I **_will_** come back and finish tearing out the other half of your remaining tongue! And possibly rip out your nose too.”

Gourmand tries to nod his head to convey his understanding.

“If you so much come near any endangered animals, near my teammates, or near **_Chris_**, I will come back and sever each one of your limbs that you use until all that is left of you is a pathetic stump of your repugnant body, and you will **wish** that I had killed you instead!”

Nerves frazzled and the everlasting pain overwhelming him, Gourmand could only sob brokenly as Martin pulls away from him.

“Now, it’s time for me to leave,” Martin begins cheerfully, removing the bloodied gloves and tossing them in the same black bag from before, “I hope you don’t mind if I take Shadow with me; his mom must be missing him and I have a little brother to go home to.”

Tears and snot spilling down his face, he attempts to disconnect with the world, hoping that he would eventually pass out; just as long he didn’t have to stare at older Kratt brother’s face.

He hears a large amount of ruckus in the background and Martin’s footsteps going back and forth inside his home but he was past the point that he didn’t care was going around him. In one part, he thought he felt his arms and legs being loosened from his restraints but he wasn’t sure. Blinking blearily, Gourmand stares with unfocused eyes at his ceiling, barely conscious.

The last thing he hears was Martin talking gently to what he guesses was the wild cub he left in the cage.

“Hey there buddy! I’m sorry for keeping you waiting! But don’t you worry, we’ll be leaving—”

Then there was darkness…

When Gourmand opens his eyes again, he looks around in confusion, wondering why he could see the night sky as the pain had now become a bearable type of ache. When it dawns at him where he was, he goes completely lax, eying the paramedics that were around him as he became mindful of the wails of the ambulance siren.

He barely registers that he passed out again…

Martin observes the parked ambulance from his hiding spot, the jaguar’s amazing eyesight allowing him to see the truck from far away and extremely dim surroundings. He didn’t move an inch, gazing at the ambulance truck as the paramedics slid the transport stretcher inside, Gourmand still knocked out when he last saw him ten minutes ago. Once Gourmand’s comatose body was inside, the paramedics climbed in, closing the door behind them before the truck drove off, the siren wailing loudly through the night.

When he was positive that the ambulance was completely gone, he steps out of his hiding spot, holding a prepaid phone in his clawed hand. Seeing that he has no more use for it, Martin simply crushes it in his hand and throws it in his handy black bag. Pressing on the deactivation button, Martin releases a tired but satisfied sigh.

After already calling the ambulance for Gourmand and having previously taken Shadow home to his mother five to six minutes ago, Martin can now actually say that he was ready to go home.

He couldn’t wait to be back home and cuddle up to his Chris…

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read my fic; kudos and comments are always appreciated. 😊


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